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It's also sweet to see the interaction between the adults and children in Balanchine's first act. But if the sight of 21st Century adults and children comporting themselves together with civility in the lobbies is a welcome rarity, the 19th-Century families depicted seem almost from another planet, with the children dressed as little adults and, for the most part, behaving as such. This is no more evident than in the beautiful and sober dance where the children at stage left emulate the parents at stage right, like a shrunken mirror image, right down to the presentation of corsages. Thank goodness for the plot that the kids are still allowed to be kids at times, as there wouldn't be much of a story without the familiar horseplay leading to the injury to the Nutcracker, and its subsequent repair. (One of City Ballet's current Franzes misbehaves with tremendous gusto, slamming the hobby-horse and Nutcracker onto the stage that they threatened to bounce into the orchestra pit.)

I'm glad City Ballet has resisted any temptation to modernize this story into some sort of metaphor for Marie's sexual awakening, or worse. In fact, some parts of 'Nutcracker' are quite deliberately as Balanchine remembered from his youth with the Imperial Ballet in St. Petersburg, particularly the Nutcracker Prince's mimed retelling of the battle with the mice at the beginning of Act II, and the Candy Canes, which Balanchine himself led to glowing reviews a century ago. Of course he himself tinkered with his 'Nutcracker' over the years, making changes like adding a Cavalier for the Sugar Plum Fairy, and changing the Arabian (Coffee) dance from a man lugubriously taking hits off a hookah to its current bit of harem-girl cheesecake-for-the-daddies.

While the choreography has remained pretty much set in stone since Balanchine's death, changes in shading have crept in, none more marked than the metamorphosis of Dewdrop, the perky lass who flits in and out of the wings while leading the Waltz of the Flowers from a pretty ornament to a daredevil machisma test of speed and stamina for the hottest greyhounds and quarterhorses in City Ballet's stable. Today's Dewdrop is all about speed, fleetness of foot, tricky turns, and leaping, leaping, leaping. A great treat of the past week or so has been watching how well, and differently, some of these astonishing women have acquitted themselves. There's also more than a little competition; and it's not at all unusual to see dancers "borrowing" inventions from each other in a game of subtle one-upmanship.

Although I haven't quite seen every Dewdrop this season, I've seen quite a few, and, with the caveat that on any day a dancer can uncork the performance of her lifetime, or have an off night for any number of reasons, I have to put Ashley Bouder's at the top of this very competitive heap. A diminutive powerhouse, Bouder's physique has spoken more of her tightly coiled musculature than of singing line, at least until now. Bouder's slimmed down considerably in the off-season, and while she'll never be a lyrical ballerina, the newly sleek line of her legs and torso give her greater breadth as a dancer, as was seen in her recent debut as the Sugar Plum Fairy. Another benefit, immediately evident in her Dewdrop, is that her formerly astonishing elevation has become breathtaking, especially in Dewdrop's signature saute de chat, seeming to fly above the heads of massed corps of Flowers lining the stage behind her. She has the kind of quick jump where she appears to whoosh upwards with almost no visible preparation. As much as her virtuosity, it's her musicality that catches the eye; how she found a tiny island of calm in the gale of Andrea Quinn's conducting to show us the delicacy with which she brushed her fingertips to her chin, a nicety which is too often blurred and sketched.

An impressive spray of Dewdrops follows close at Bouder's heels. In an impressive debut, Teresa Reichlen, who must be over six-foot with her tiara, showed that a tall girl can be just as quick on her feet as shorter dynamos. In her rendition of the flying diagonal of rondes de jambe en l'air sauté alternating with piqué arabesques with which Dewdrop makes one of her dramatic entrances, she didn't just jump high for each saute, but added a little showy fillip: after pushing off on her left leg, instead of simply holding it straight beneath her as her right leg flicked through the ronde de jambe, she swung her left leg ever-so-slightly backwards, as if into a low arabesque, before pulling it back beneath her for her landing. It was a juicy bit of bravura (especially for a debut). It made each leap seem even higher, and focused the attention momentarily on both of her feet as she hurtled through the air, so you could savor the contrast between the flashing of her right foot and steadiness of her left. (I don't think it was a coincidence that the very next night Alexandra Ansanelli did the same thing with her own sautes.) I was expecting to be awed by Reichlen's stag-leaps (and wasn't disappointed), but was pleasantly surprised with her canniness in shaping her big moments to perfectly coincide with the music's, as in the way she gave an extra bit of stretch to each of her high arabesques in Dewdrop's tricky repeated slow pirouettes into arabesque in the finale. Reichlen is certainly a dancer to watch; if she were a song she'd be heading up the charts with a bullet.
 

Sofiane Sylve as Dewdrop in Balanchine's Nutcracker
© Paul Kolnik

Sofiane Sylve, now one of the company's linchpins and with less to prove, danced a bit more safely than in her stunning debut last year, but the clarity of her turns (with beautiful positioning of her working leg in two travelling fouettés) and eagle-like soaring leaps still commanded the eye. Janie Taylor, who's been an unforgettable electrified kamikaze of a Dewdrop in seasons past, while still lovely, looked as if she hasn't quite gotten back to full strength after missing most of this year; I've got high hopes for her later performances in this run. The ever unpredictable Alexandra Ansanelli kept going for broke, especially in her turns (almost turning a pirouette in attitude into a gorgeous double); that not every effect for which she strived worked out (she kept having to play catch-up with the music) in no way detracts from her wild-and-crazy appeal. Perfection is often overrated. Megan Fairchild was competent, but not spectacular.

It's as well that the Dewdrops have been so memorable, as Sugar Plum/Cavalier pairings highlighted the increasingly glaring weaknesses in City Ballet's lineup, especially among the men. While five or ten years ago City Ballet's male contingent was second to none, age has taken its toll on the more-senior dancers. I weep that this is Peter Boal's last season. Nikolaj Hübbe, while still handsome and charming as ever, struggles with a declining technique, and even the seemingly indefatigable Damian Woetzel has become merely human. While City Ballet has no lack of diminutive male tricksters, the ranks of leading men of the future are slim indeed. Benjamin Millepied has a technique which sparkles as often as his demeanor does not, and it's a little scary to think that in a few years after some inevitable retirements, Joaquin de Luz might very well become City Ballet's best man. The company is much stronger with principal women, but the early 'Nutcrackers' showed who had and hadn't been keeping on top of things during the layoff.

On opening night (November 26), the long and willowy Maria Kowroski seems to have regained the strength she'd lost so alarmingly in recent seasons. As always, Kowroski's great extensions and drop-dead penchées stole the show, but they no longer have the look of the tail wagging the dog, as Kowroski's stronger torso keeps everything in its proper place. Happily, she managed the two tricky double pirouettes from fifth in her solo with much less drama than I'd expected (or than she showed last year). Perhaps one day Kowroski's face will have as much life as her legs, or perhaps not. Her tall Cavalier, Charles Askegard, partnered her with more aplomb than he managed for his own solo, which only came alive with some concluding flashy pirouettes. Jenifer Ringer, of the raven tresses and movie-star face, was properly maternal and welcoming with the little angels at the beginning of the second act (Balanchine upset purists by putting the Sugar Plum Fairy's solo at the beginning of the act, instead of after the adagio with her Cavalier). Sebastien Marcovici, who's great in more abstract and theatrical works, looked at sea with Ringer, and Marcovici's uncertain partnering and Ringer's unfortunate retreat from her newfound svelteness of earlier this year combined for some unintentionally exciting moments: the first of the shoulder-sits, where the ballerina charges across half the stage to leap onto her partner's shoulder, was more than a little hairy, with Marcovici having to crouch almost to one knee to get under the plummeting Ringer. By the ballet's finale Marcovici seemed barely able to lift Ringer even in a simple jeté; of his solo, a discreet silence would be the most kind. Delicate as a hummingbird, Yvonne Borree (with Nikolaj Hübbe) made a great start of her solo and the adagio, before some unpleasantries in the afore-mentioned pirouettes from fifth in the former, and the celebrated sliding arabesque in the latter.
 

Maria Kowroski as the Sugar Plum Fairy and
Charles Askegard as her Cavalier
in Balanchine's Nutcracker
© Paul Kolnik

The best Sugar Plums so far have been, not surprisingly, the best Dewdrops. Ashley Bouder started her solo a bit nervously, but hit her stride in the adagio with Jared Angle, again showing musical sensitivity to match her virtuosity: stretching out her back leg into an arabesque penchée to perfectly complete the musical phrase, an arabesque most dancers are content to simply hit on time, coming as it does after a tricky bit of partnering. At one of the last of Tchaikovsky's ever-more-emphatic repetition's of the adagio's downward-scaling theme, Bouder rose from her nearly supine backwards stretch over Angle's lowered arm, swinging her front leg down into a stabbing fourth in relevé with such drama the audience applauded. While Angle partnered Bouder efficiently, his own solo was weak.

If Bouder's Sugar Plum rides the adagio's thunderous musical runs like a surfer on a wave, Ansanelli's surrenders to it as if it were a narcotic. Watching her swooning backbends at the end of the adagio is not unlike a sugar rush she gets swept away, and she's having so much fun up there she takes her audience with her. And if the visceral response to the music which makes her dancing seem so fresh and alive also makes her an unpredictable challenge for her partners, well, that's why they get paid the big bucks, or should be. A truly natural turner, Ansanelli breezed through the troublesome pirouettes in her solo as if they were nothing, and threw in a triple in the adagio, just because she could. It seems almost churlish to observe that her lack of turnout sometimes gives her a truly alarming line in arabesque: knee to the floor, instep to the ceiling, or that her enthusiasm sometimes overwhelms her respect for technical niceties. She's fun, but sloppy. Millepied is anything but sloppy, and his self-contained clarity (and unflappable partnering skills) make him an ideal complement for Ansanelli.

As for Wendy Whelan, seeing her bourreeing Sugar Plum entrance, waving her wand as though to the manner born, is enough to send me home happy. If Whelan's technique has become a bit sketchy in places (we won't mention the pirouettes in her solo), it hardly matters. She's reached the point in her career where her innate grandeur and generosity of spirit count for far more (yes, she's earned indulgences it will take Ansanelli years to acquire), and the Sugar Plum adagio is a perfect vehicle for her, as she seems to grow in stature with each swelling crescendo. Nilas Martins was yet another Cavalier whose partnering was more impressive than his solo, which was as clean as it was affectless.

Amidst these star turns were many striking performances in the various character roles. Sean Suozzi is a tall Candy Cane. He devours the stage with a dark intensity that belies the confectionery theme. If only someone could get him a larger hoop, he'd be sensational (his long legs have an unfortunate habit of getting caught in mid-leap). In a crowd of unaffecting Arabian dancers (Coffee), Reichlen stood out for her intensity and hungry sensuality, if not her voluptuousness. This harem fantasy seems to be perfect for the Carla Körbes lushness; it's a puzzle why she hasn't ever been cast for it. It would be hard to omit a mention of the increasing brashness of the men playing Mother Ginger, the tambourine-pounding woman from whose skirts a passel of mirlitons emerge. As they dance Mother Ginger does her best to steal the scene, fixing her face in her hand-mirror (kissing it sometimes), mugging wildly at the often somnolent Prince and Marie and miming that they should get off their thrones and join the fun, or turning her hip-swaying turn in place into something more hula-like than I think Balanchine intended. As with circus clowns, you can identify these Mother Gingers by their made-up faces; the Best Makeup award goes to Christian Tworzyanski for his seasonally appropriate red-and-green striped eyeshadow (which extended most of the way up his forehead). I felt as if I were watching Divine herself on the State Theater stage. Let me give last bravo a last bravo for violinist Kurt Nikkanen, whose solo passages in the first act were every bit as magical as the colossally growing Christmas tree they accompanied.